Thread of Gold
by Tonshi
Summary: Midgardians once believed that the Norns spun fateful twine of gold at Yggdrasill's feet. The strings would encircle time and forge destiny—bind people or sever ties—and not even the gods were immune. For some, their threads were always laced too tightly. Loki/Eir. (Part of the Pathology Universe)
1. The Editor

AN: Hello, and welcome to the story! This is _Thread of Gold_ , a fic consisting of a number of "oneshots" set in the _Pathology_ universe. While I cannot stop you, I believe reading _Pathology_ first would make these short stories more enjoyable. On the same note, I feel like reading these short stories first would make _Pathology_ far less enjoyable. _Thread of Gold_ is to function as a Prequel/Deleted Scene/Sequel to _Pathology._

The stories will be set in chronological order, and each chapter ( or most of them ) have been suggested by the reviewers of _Pathology._ I could not have made this story without their input and kind words! The reviewers of Pathology are the brain-children of this fanfiction, so I thank them! Sorry it has taken so long, but when life happens...man, does it happen!

So without further ado, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

* * *

 **The Editor**

* * *

 _Timeframe: Pre-Thor_

* * *

Loki knew he was not a warrior; that much was obvious. But as he stared down at the messy handwriting on the parchment in front of him, he couldn't help but feel insulted that Thor failed to invite him _again._

"Gone to Niflheim." Loki read, the words slithering off his tongue like a curse. "Can you believe that, Lady Gefjon? What could possibly be of interest on _Niflheim_?"

Across the room, the redheaded handmaiden just shrugged and continued her job of cleaning Thor's room. It was a complete mess, as per usual, with red sheets and old ale-mugs left amiss. Though gigantic, Thor's room felt small with the clutter—old, unread books scattered against the golden floors and gifted weapons thrown about without thought. Loki would never dare treat his room like his brother did his. Loki could never throw a book on the _floor._

"I am stunned that he thought not to tell me." Loki growled towards the woman. "I grow tired of my constant exclusion from his travels."

This time, the woman sent him a sympathetic look.

"I am sorry, your highness."

"As you _should_ be." He agreed. "I am now in a rather foul mood. Where is my mother?"

Gefjon looked thoughtful for a moment, her green eyes looking towards Thor's cathedral ceiling in search of an answer. She was one of his mother's handmaidens, a kind goddess who often looked after and protected the innocent, and she was expected to know the queen's whereabouts at all times. After a moment, the short woman snapped her fingers and gave him a small smile.

"In a meeting, if I recall." She answered, her head nodding slightly. "There are whispers that Master Ástríðr is retiring."

For a moment, his dissatisfaction with his brother was forgotten. If what Gefjon said was true, he was intrigued. Ástríðr was the Royal Healer, his mother's eldest handmaiden, and a master sorceress. She had delivered both him and Thor, and she was hailed as one of the greatest healers of her time. When his father would slip into his yearly Odinsleep, it was Ástríðr who protected him. When Thor would return injured from a mission, it was Ástríðr who would make him new again.

"Whoever shall take her place?" Loki questioned seriously. "Last I recalled, Ástríðr's apprentices were less than remarkable."

And they _were_. The last time one of the medical apprentices healed him, he was in the healing chambers for weeks instead of days. The apprentices under Ástríðr's teachings could barely cure a cold, and though healing was one of the more difficult forms of sorcery, their lack of skills was inexcusable. If Ástríðr wasn't around to help him, he often resorted to learning spells and healing _himself._ The idea that one of them was to take the title of Royal Healer was terrifying.

"Only time shall tell." Gefjon decided. "But if I know your mother like I know I do, she will hail only the best."

* * *

When Thor would ignore him, Loki found himself seeking company in the form of literature. The palace's library was truly impressive, and even in all his travels, he had never seen one of equal splendor. Shelves of books would reach the ceiling, and spiral staircases twisted their way to multiple levels and rooms. There were books from all over the realms—ones filled with knowledge and ones filled with adventures. There was something beautiful about the written word that enchanted him, and whenever he got the chance he lost himself in the pages for a while.

Today, sparked by the conversation with Gefjon, he found himself craving something on medicine. Journals from across the realms would tell him that most medical magic existed in a very primitive way. Asgard was leaps and bounds ahead of the more barbaric realms like Jotunheim, and although Midgardian technology was advancing rapidly, it still paled in comparison. Ástríðr had told him that the best healers integrated science and magic; unfortunately for most of the realms, only the latter was utilized.

Walking down one of the many staircases, the prince found himself in a relatively small room. Taking a deep breath, Loki found himself breathing in the delicious scent of old paper and smiling at the neatly arranged books. On the spines were titles etched in gold, topics from every aspect of medicine, and he didn't know where to start.

"I am sorry, Milord. I pray I am not a disturbance."

Jumping, Loki turned around to see a young woman sitting at one of the wooden tables with a book in her hand. Long, dark locks cascaded down an ill-fitting gown and washed out her already pale face. The gown looked like one of those dresses commoners saved their fortunes for; it paled in comparison to even the cheapest clothes of nobility, and it was obvious to him that the woman was trying to play in a world she was not part of. Still, despite her obvious status, there was something intriguing about her.

She was not unattractive, that would be a lie, but she lacked the qualities other goddesses possessed. Lanky, at best, she had a chest that could pass for a young boy's, and the woman made little attempt at accessorizing her plain attire. Unlike the other palace woman, her neck was not adorned with diamond-encrusted gold, and her ears were free from chandelier silver. But when her eyes finally met his, he realized none of that mattered.

They were gold, and _devastatingly_ gorgeous.

"Worry not." He answered finally, taking a seat across from her. "Pray tell, what book strikes the Lady's fancy?"

Taking the book that was offered to him, Loki raised an eyebrow.

"Advances in Neuropathology?" he asked, his fingers flipping through the handwritten pages. "You cannot possibly be clever enough to digest this _._ "

To his surprise, he was met only with a sheepish grin.

"I _wrote_ it."

Almost choking on the air, the prince sent a surprised look towards the woman and continued to skim through the book. It looked incredibly complex, with neurological diagrams and formulas littering the pages. Her handwriting was messy, yet feminine, and there were many scratch outs and quick notes written in the margins. From the looks of it, the book was a rough draft.

"Eir Halldórsdóttir?" he read off the cover. "Tis an odd name."

"Tis quite the statement, considering you have yet to introduce yourself."

When the prince realized she didn't recognize him, a wicked smile formed across his lips.

"Loki Odinson."

There was a sick satisfaction in watching the woman across from him stutter and fumble into a bow. Her dark locks fell down towards the ground, and her gold eyes were filled with a humiliation that pleased him. He hoped that this humiliation would teach her to hold her tongue in front of people like him.

"Many apologies, your highness." She said quickly, the shame dripping from each word. "I have not been in Asgard for some time I…I knew not how you looked."

Waving her off, Loki went back to reading the book.

"What did you _expect_?"

She seemed to be calculating something in her mind for a moment before answering.

"Someone _blonder_?"

Rolling his eyes, Loki let out a frustrated sigh. Of course she would think he looked like _Thor_. Every woman on Asgard was infatuated with his brother, and when they finally met him, they were only given a strong dose of disappointment. Thor was Asgard's ideal man; Loki might have well been its polar opposite.

"That would be my _brother._ " Loki groaned. "What brings you to the palace? You look dressed for…"

For someone trying to play a person she wasn't. Across from him, the young woman looked at her hands in thought. He had never seen her before, not even on his tours through the city, and he found it strange. She claimed she had not been on Asgard for some time, and the prince could formulate no logical explanation for why a maiden would traverse the realms and avoid home. Finally, she answered in a quiet voice.

"I was nominated for Royal Healer."

Feeling the shock wash over him once more, Loki's eyes widened.

"Master Ástríðr campaigned for me." She continued on. "I had an audience with the Allmother earlier."

The man had to admit he wasn't expecting that. Healing was a difficult form of magic, and most of the highly championed healers had been practicing it their entire lives. The most revered names in medicinal magic were as old as his father or older, and he had never seen one reach the title of master before an advanced age. He often likened them to ancient sages, but the woman before him was younger than him.

"Healing is a challenging form of sorcery." He remarked, eyeing her over curiously. "Not for me, of course; I mastered healing charms long go."

He smiled towards Eir.

"Do not feel badly if my mother decides to choose a more _seasoned_ healer." He added thoughtfully. "You are far too young."

Not expecting it, the prince felt a chill down his spine when the healer narrowed her stunning eyes at him.

"I assure you, Milord." She hissed with her voice tainted with a fair bit of venom. "I am fully qualified."

"Of _course_ you are." He agreed, his tone condescending and belittling. "If you need an editor for your work, I would be happy to lend my expertise."

But before she could open her mouth, another voice joined the conversation.

"I see you have met my son!" Frigga beamed. "I pray you got along well?"

Smiling towards his mother, Loki lowered his head in respect. Eir looked positively flustered, her face now flush with a fair bit of color and her eyes lit with a fire that pleased him. Loki always thought women looked more attractive when they were passionate about something, and the anger in Eir's face was no exception.

"Lady Eir will be joining the other handmaidens soon enough." Frigga explained towards him. "Master Ástríðr will be pleased to know her title will go to a skilled maiden."

Loki tried valiantly to stop his jaw from dropping.

"Oh, I cannot thank you enough my queen!" Eir bowed, her golden eyes catching his in a sickeningly satisfied look. "T'will be an honor to serve the House of Odin."

"Come." Frigga said towards the girl with a warm smile. "I shall show you to the healing chambers."

Watching the woman stand up, Loki felt the slightest pinch of humiliation. Her eyes were bright, and when her small, feminine hands reached towards the book in his grip, they stopped abruptly—a positively sinful smirk painted across her features.

"The wording in chapter thirty five, the chapter on the cytokine and chemokine role in the pathogenesis of various neurological diseases, is causing me quite a bit of trouble. I eagerly await your insight, your _highness_."

And with that she left him—leaving him alone in the library to decide whether he hated the maiden or he liked her. For the first time in a while, he couldn't quite tell.

* * *

He hated her, he decided.

Over the course of the night he had read her book—which by 'read', he meant struggle like a child as he attempted to navigate the complex medical wording. She was not some healer- that was apparent. At least, she was not a healer in the traditional sense. Asgardian healers were sorcerers, and they used magic to mend wounds. This _Eir_ integrated magic and science into something he had never seen.

The whole back of the book was filled with formulas to medication made from plants across the realms. There were hand-drawn anatomical diagrams translated into many languages. Spells he had never heard of littered the margins, and she made mention of ancient medical wisdom from places like Jotunheim and Vanaheim. It was apparent she had become a master on every realm, and it made him furious.

As far as the palace went, he had a monopoly on intelligence. Often times, he would fantasize about what it would be like to have someone on his level—but he always imagined it going along more smoothly than this. Eir had made him look like a moron, she _knew_ she had made him look like a fool, and it infuriated him. He would not let some woman best him.

Marching into the healing chambers, Loki eyed one of Ástríðr's underlings.

"Where is Lady Eir?"

Giving him an odd look, the older woman cast her blue eyes across the room. Past the many beds and various tools, the prince could see the new Royal Healer tending to one of the many patients. She looked different from yesterday, a warm light about her, and as he approached, he was surprised when the woman gave him a cheerful smile. It almost made her look innocent.

 _Almost_.

"Have you completed the edits, Milord?"

Tossing the book on the floor, Loki narrowed his green eyes.

"You knew well I wouldn't understand it."

To this, Eir gave him a knowing smirk.

"Do not tell me your healing skills are less than that of a _woman._ " She questioned smugly. "I recall you claiming to have mastered the art some time ago?"

The patient in the bed was looking between them in an awkward manner, the tension between him and the healer palpable. Loki could feel the heat rushing to his face, and the sting of humiliation wash over him. Meanwhile, the doctor just looked at him—her golden eyes filled with a defiance he had never met before. It was uncommon for someone to defy members from the House of Odin. Perhaps she never got the memo.

Turning on his heel, he neglected to give the woman a proper farewell. Instead, he offered her only a few, venom-filled words.

"Get back to work, _peasant_."

* * *

"I am stunned, brother." Thor beamed, his hands trailing over his leg. "I had shattered it, and within hours I was healed. _Hours,_ brother!"

Thor watched as Loki only responded with an unimpressed eye roll. He had noticed that whenever he mentioned the new Royal Healer, Loki became visibly upset. Despite being injured a few times, Loki would avoid the healing chambers at all cost. Whenever Eir was in the same room with him, Loki would make an excuse to leave. Quite frankly, it baffled Thor; they were more alike than not.

"She is truly gifted." Thor added. "And quite young!"

"Too bad her personality is rotten." Loki scoffed.

To that, Thor couldn't help but laugh. The young healer had been nothing but pleasant to him, and he had his suspicions that any ill temper gained from the woman was all Loki's fault. Thor knew his brother had a habit of pushing people to their limits—he no doubt provoked her.

"I think she is rather charming." Thor argued. "She hath a fair face, and those eyes are stunning…"

Loki rolled his eyes again.

"She thinks her intellect above others'." The younger prince spat. "Arrogance is unattractive on a woman."

Thor wished he could laugh at the irony of the situation. He had never had the pleasure of meeting someone more arrogant than the God of Mischief himself.

"Do not be cold, brother!" Thor warned. "She may very well save your life one day."

* * *

It had happened on a hunting trip to Nornheim.

When it first occurred, Loki thought it had been a simple sprain. While following a group of Bilgesnipe, he had fallen off his horse while in full gallop and injured his arm. He was not stupid; he had gotten sprains and dislocations before, but this time was different. While the pain usually subsided within a day or two, this time it had only gotten worse. In fact, it had gotten to the point where he couldn't move his arm.

"Tis just a sprain." Loki insisted, using his non-dominant hand to pour himself a drink. "All will be well, Fandral."

To that, the skilled swordsman only raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"I know not, Loki." The warrior remarked. "I know you detest her, but perhaps it would be best if you seek out Lady Eir."

Narrowing his green eyes at Fandral, Loki sent a hateful look towards the blonde. What he was suggesting was completely ridiculous. It was a simple sprain, and there was no need to have the Royal Healer concern herself with such a mindless task. If he were to go to her, she would make him look like a fool once more. In fact, each time he passed one of Ástríðr's underlings in the hall, they turned to each other and laughed.

"I will be _fine._ "

But before he could leave the banquet hall, Fandral had to open his mouth. Down the hall was a familiar face, the gold eyes contrasting with the woman's black dress and, upon seeing her, Loki could feel his anger rising.

"Lady Eir!" Fandral called, his voice echoing down the hall. "A word, please!"

Loki watched with disgust as the young woman bowed towards Fandral and gave him a warm smile. When she was speaking with the warrior, she almost looked pleasant—but Loki knew better. However, when her eyes finally caught his they were not filled with arrogance, but with worry.

"You need to get to the healing chambers straight away, your highness." She said quickly. "You have severe nerve damage."

And while some part of him believed her, another part of him told him to laugh at her suggestion.

"There is no way for you to know _that._ " Loki countered arrogantly. "Tis but a sprain, and you have not Heimdall's vision."

To his side, Fandral looked on with confusion.

"Perhaps you should trust her—"

"No." The prince insisted stubbornly. "How can she tell? One cannot see through _skin_."

Looking back towards the woman, Loki noticed that the worry had not yet left her features. Though it was his arm that was damaged, she seemed to be taking a peculiar interest in his face. Upon her dismissal, the healer simply looked at the floor and bit her bottom lip.

"Your eyelid." She whispered. "It droops."

Blinking a few times, Loki caught his reflection in the golden floor.

"Tis indicative of severe avulsion injury." She explained simply. "If you do not seek help, you will never regain functionality."

Instead of heeding her warning, Loki just narrowed his eyes and allowed the room to be overtaken by silence. It was apparent from her features that she was not use to having people ignore her or tell her she was wrong, and part of him was satisfied when she broke her gaze from his. But when she shook her head and turned on her heel down the hall, Loki felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Enjoy your _sprain,_ Milord."

* * *

Loki was being absolutely ridiculous, Eir had decided. She didn't know what it was about the younger prince, but he had a way of trying her patience. Thor was perfectly pleasant and charming. Ever the warrior, Thor was often in the healing room needing repairs of lacerations and breaks. When the elder brother would show up, he would do nothing but smile and charm everyone in the room.

But Loki was another story.

Almost child-like, he would mope around the palace and narrow his eyes in her presence. He had thrown her book on the ground, and even had the audacity to request other, amateur healers care for him. He was acting like the spoiled prince she always took the brothers for.

It was a shame, really; tales of his sharp mind traversed the galaxy, and to her nothing was more attractive than intelligence.

She shouldn't have been surprised by any of it, though. In her travels across the realms she had been treated poorly by all men she encountered. Over the years she had been forced to watch her friends marry and start families—she was forced to watch them get swooned over by men from every corner of the galaxy. It was only when she would _pretend_ to be daft that she would get noticed.

Once they found out what she was capable of…

Well, in the end they were all the same.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, the young doctor walked over to her bookshelf and pulled out one of her sketchbooks from her time on Jotunheim. Scattered across the pages were etchings of dissections—details of every inch of a typical Jotun specimen—and the pertinent pathophysiological findings. Her eyes danced across the web of nerves in the arm, and her fingers traced along the connections towards the spinal chord. Smiling at a note she had written indicating a sight of common avulsion injury, she knew she had located where Prince Loki's problem was.

"I apologize for my earlier behavior."

Jumping from her seat, the woman kicked the Jotun anatomy text under her desk and gave her visitor a welcoming smile. As she eyed the prince, she prayed with every ounce of her being that he had been oblivious to the book she had just been referencing. The Queen had given her very specific orders regarding Asgard's youngest royal, and she desperately wanted to stay true to Frigga's orders. Standing up nervously, she walked towards him.

"Please." Loki said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please fix me."

He looked pathetic, really. Standing there with his drooping eye and his cradled arm, the once hostile man now looked vulnerable. Instead of being bitter and arrogant, he looked almost desperate and child-like.

"Tis the middle of the night, Milord." She explained in a tired voice. "You require surgery and I have not slept in days. Tomorrow, yes?"

But as the words left her lips, she noticed he looked terrified.

"It is a pain indescribable." He admitted ashamedly. "And I fear being alone."

Though she could tell that he was desperately trying to hide the true extent of his pain from her, his face was betraying him. As he stood there, she could see the faintest beads of sweat dripping down his face and she could see the tension in his jaw as he clenched it tighter. It was not uncommon for these types of injuries to cause a pain such as this, and though he had been positively vile towards her she suddenly felt herself feeling sorry for him.

"Come along." She finally agreed. "I will fix you a sedative and analgesic. You may take a bed in the healing ward if you so desire. Though, I fear, it will be far less elegant than your usual accommodations."

She could see his green eyes scanning the healing wards as her hands danced across the various vials from a large collection of medicine. The healing chambers were nothing exciting—they were one of the oldest facets of he palace and they needed desperate upgrading—but they did their job. Noticing Loki take a seat on one of the hard beds, she took a seat next to him.

"You dwell here?" he asked seriously, his eyes looking curiously towards the medicine she had put in his hands. "Such dismal chambers."

Ignoring his comments, she pointed towards the medicine.

"It looks repulsive."

Such an astute observation, she thought.

" _Drink_ it."

The healer watched as the prince tilted his head back and took the medicine like a shot of liquor. Almost instantly his face contorted at the taste of it and his body fought valiantly against the urge to spit it back up. But as soon as it started it was over and his eyelids began to flutter as they fell victim to the power of torpidity. Easing his lax body down on the bed, Eir simply looked down at him with a bit of defeat in her features.

In slumber he almost looked handsome. With his face no longer contorted in pain or shame, the man below her looked peaceful and very much like the youthful prince he was meant to be. As she looked down at his sculpted features, she almost forgot for a moment all the spiteful things he had said to her. For a moment, she almost thought he seemed pleasant.

Scoffing off her own ridiculous thoughts, she shook her head.

She knew better.

* * *

"Oww!" Loki hissed, his free hand rushing to his injured shoulder. "By my father's bea—"

But before he could sit up, a small hand came to him and held him down.

"Do not move." A voice urged. "You will pull your stitches out."

Turning towards the voice, Loki's lips turned into the faintest of smiles as he saw a familiar face sitting next to him. She looked exhausted, far more tired than the last time he had seen her, and she had changed into surgical rags. Still, even out of the royal dresses his mother provided her with, there was something commanding about her.

"I can feel my fingers." He remarked, his eyes trailing down towards his twitching digits. "It appears your surgery was a success."

To this, the woman next to him let a small chuckle escape her lips.

"Well of course _._ " She answered. " _I_ performed the surgery."

He decided that considering everything that had happened, he would allow this instance of arrogance.

"Thank you."

His words were dripping with sincerity.

Catching his reflection on the cup near his bed, he noticed that his eyelid was no longer drooping. Despite his better judgment, Eir had been right about his condition and despite the right git he had been to her over the past months, she had vowed to help him. Looking down at his twitching fingers once again, a shiver went down Loki's spine as he thought about the fact that he almost let his resentment for the healer claim his hand.

"I read your book, you know." He admitted, his voice breaking up the stillness of the room. "I understood very little, but I knew it dripped of brilliance."

To this, tired gilded eyes caught his.

"If you would have me, I would be honored to give the editing another go."

It was, of course, the closest he could come to concocting an apology.

"Of course, Milord." She agreed, her lips turning into a genuine smile. "Shall we try this all again? I fear we became acquainted not on the finest of terms."

To this, a small hand came towards his.

"Eir Halldórsdóttir"

Meeting her hand with his, the prince felt his own lips turning into a smile.

"Loki Odinson."

* * *

AN: Thank you so much for reading! Again, sorry for the insane delay! Reviews are always much appreciated! 3

 **Next Chapter:** Crying Wolf

* * *

 **This Oneshot's Inspiration:**

"Oh, and in the oneshots, maybe have something about how Loki and Eir first met!"-Yokokoro


	2. Crying Wolf

**AN:** Thank you everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, or followed! I cannot thank you enough for your kind words! This next chapter's inspiration came from a reference in _Pathology,_ and some reviewers wanted the scene realized in some form. Again, this is a Pre-Thor timeframe, so I am characterizing Loki as more carefree and not his cray-cray self. That will come in due time.

Anyway, thank you for reading and enjoy!

* * *

 **Crying Wolf**

* * *

Timeline: Pre-Thor

* * *

Loki knew he was a curious creature. There were so many things in the universe that fascinated him—places he longed to see and magic he wished to master—and as such his room was always littered with books. But what currently caught his curiosity was not something that could be chronicled with elegant text and bound in fancy covers. No, what had captured his interest was not some _thing_ , but some _one._

Ever since she had arrived at the palace and earned her place as Royal Healer, Eir had fascinated him. Though their relationship had started off abrasive at first, the weeks to follow showed the prince that the young handmaiden was anything but ordinary. In front of him and the other members of his family she was always perfect—her words a script and her motions calculated. But when he would walk through the halls late at night, when he would hear her speaking with the other healers about medicine, she was someone else entirely.

The Eir he saw on a daily basis was pleasant.

The Eir he heard behind closed doors was…

There was something about the passion in her voice that moved him. When she spoke about medicine, when she spoke about the intricacies of science and magic, her voice would take on a quality that was truly breathtaking. Sometimes her voice would speed up and she would fumble over the complicated words—her mind working far quicker than her body would allow—and yet she still sounded brilliant. Sometimes her voice would get higher pitched, and in the shadows he could see her small hands moving to emphasize words or twirl around in thought. On a special occasion he even heard a cry of joy as she figured out the composition to, what sounded like, a particularly complex pathway of pharmacology.

It was refreshing, really, hearing something so passionate and so genuine—and it pained him that her whole persona was so fabricated in front of him. So many of the women that traversed the palace halls were the same; they were automated and held skills that they learned not for passion, but for elegance and beauty. They were skills that would make for a beautiful princess, and they were skills that Frigga adored.

But he wasn't impressed.

Perhaps he was crazy, but skills in exotic forms of dance or music did little to stir his interest. While pleasant to look at, Loki found little pleasure in engaging with women who had perfect hair and no personality. He had little interest in women who had gorgeous features but no mind. They were boring, and Loki absolutely _loathed_ boring. As such, he felt as if it were his mission to coax the excitement out of the palace's newest servant. While a perfect actress in the gilded halls, he knew she would have a hard time pretending whilst in her own domain—and with a knife in his hand, Loki knew _exactly_ how to get himself in her arena.

* * *

"Milord, how in the realms did this happen?"

Loki tried to hide the smirk on his face as two delicate hands came to his.

"Sparring with my brother, unfortunately." He explained, his face twisting in pain as she patted the open wound with some medicine. "I lost my grip on my dagger and it went straight through. You _can_ help me, can you not?"

Almost instantaneously the man could feel the unmistakable tingle of magic course through his palm. Focusing his green eyes, he watched as his skin started to lace back together as if it were fabric—the sorceress in front of him seemingly using her talents to take control of his body's own machinery. It all felt very foreign, like he could feel her flowing through his veins and crowding him out, and in a manner of minutes his wound went through all the trials of typical healing. Eventually, he was left with only the faintest of scars. Looking up from his hand, he smiled towards the healer.

"Tis quite the party trick." He remarked, his fingers stoking over his scar. "How is such a feat achieved?"

To this, the woman before him just raised one of her dark eyebrows.

" _Magic_?" She answered with her voice laced with confusion. "I fear I don't know exactly what you mean…"

"Physiologically."

Loki could feel his heart skip ever so slightly as the doctor blinked a few times before looking positively stunned. To his satisfaction, he watched as the persona she had fabricated for him began to become undone. His green eyes scanned her young face as her lips twitched into the smallest of smiles and her eyes took upon a spark that floored him. When her voice finally freed itself from her lips, he knew his plan had been successful.

"I used sorcery to take command of your innate immune response and wound healing machinery, Milord." She explained simply, her ears almost perking up as she heard the scientific words leave her own mouth. "I simply accelerated the process of commanding your professional phagocytic cells to release chemokine mediators into the destroyed local tissue…"

Her eyes looked towards the floor.

"Once I had accounted for any potentially dangerous pathogens, I then activated your transforming growth factor cascade to up-regulate the transcription of genetic components to increase local production of fibrous and collagenous tissue along with new extracellular matrix components…I mean, I have been trying to work out a method to reduce scarring by altering the relative ratios of the various TGF-β components but as you can see I have thus far been unsuccessful and…"

Her voice had sped up ever so slightly as she spoke of the complicated process of wound healing and what his body could do to combat against it. He couldn't help but smile as her finger traced his scar and explained how she used magic to override his body's own machinery to accelerate the natural process. Unlike the other healers that simply explained the spells behind the outcome, Eir took the time to explain what was happening on a molecular level and how she used this deep knowledge of biological science to create healing spells.

Though he had heard whispers from the other healers, he was realizing first hand that Eir was on a whole other level when it came to the medicinal arts.

"I am so sorry, Milord. I am sure that was a much more detailed answer than you cared to hear." She apologized, her voiced laced with embarrassment. "I just…no one ever fancies a scientific explanation of such sorcery."

Loki smirked as he noticed the faint rose tint to her pale cheeks before she wished him well and excused herself to attend to other patients—once again wearing the mask of professionalism she donned for everyone. Looking back down at his hand once more, the prince smirked. If even just for him, he knew her mask now had a crack in it.

* * *

"You and your brother surely take sparing seriously!"

Ástríðr narrowed her old eyes towards the scene at the other end of the healing chambers. From her position at the medicine tables, she could see the newly appointed Royal Healer attending to the younger of Asgard's princes. Loki had apparently been struck by Thor's lightening, a more _creative_ injury if she ever saw one, and had come to the healing chambers seeking assistance. Eir, meanwhile, was scanning over the intricate fern-like markings left on the prince's chest from the "accident".

"Keraunographic markings." She explained, pointing to the scattered appearance on his pale skin. "Terrible to be struck by lightening, surely, but these are just _gorgeous._ "

Rolling her eyes, Ástríðr could almost feel the bile coming up as the two interacted. She wasn't blind; she had cared for the two princes their entire lives and while Thor was in the healing ward every other week, she could count Loki's incidents on one hand. Ever since _Eir_ became the Royal Healer, however, the younger prince had been hospitalized an alarming amount…and Ástríðr knew it wasn't just some newfound proclivity for unusual injuries.

Loki was clever.

But if he truly thought that Eir would object to interactions outside the healing chambers, perhaps he was dafter that she had once _thought._

"The marks should fade in a day or so." Eir was explaining, her gilded eyes still tracing the intricate markings on the palate that was his chest. "But you must remain vigilant. If anything changes, you must seek my counsel _immediately_."

Apparently hearing the serious tone to the woman's voice, Ástríðr watched as Prince Loki's green eyes widened.

"Like…like what?"

"Oh, temperature regulation difficulties or sleeping problems." Eir explained matter-of-factly. "Chronic pain, balance issues, or seizures."

The eldest healer watched as her young successor named off the various complications of a lightening injury and counted them off her fingers. With each new symptom, Loki's already pale face only grew more ghostly.

"Personality changes or depression…" Eir continued on, her eyes looking towards the ceiling seemingly hoping the last side effect would find its way out of her mind. "Why do I feel as though I am missing one…?"

Ástríðr couldn't help herself.

"Impotence." The old woman answered from across the room. " _Very_ common."

Knowing Loki's true parentage, Ástríðr found it particularly amusing that a Frost Giant could blush so thoroughly.

"Yes, _that."_ Eir agreed, clearing her throat. "You can keep that last side-effect to _yourself."_

* * *

"This is the second time this _month_ , your Highness."

Thor couldn't help but feel a little ashamed as he watched the healer assess the damage to his leg.

"How did you break it this time?"

As if Thor wasn't already _ashamed_ enough.

"You know well it is Mother's day on the morrow, yes?" He began. "Loki decided it would be far better to get Mother something crafted by the Master Dwarves."

The healer was nodding in agreement.

"Unfortunately…I may have mistaken a Dwarf _woman_ for a _man."_

Thor watched as the young doctor tried to stifle a laugh, but in the end a squeak escaped her lips.

"Oh forgive me, Milord, but that just sounds marvelous!"

"My brother thought it hilarious." Thor remarked, remembering the incident. "It was all his fault too, really. I had suggested we simply get mother flowers. Flowers surely would have sufficed!"

Smiling a little at the memory, Thor grimaced as the healer readjusted the bones in his legs ever so slightly. Trying not to show any weakness, the prince simply clenched his jaw and gripped onto the fabric of his cape so tightly he thought his fingers would bleed. Although he tried valiantly to mask his discomfort, the healer saw through him straight away.

"I am so sorry, your highness." She said sympathetically. Her eyes were truly full of a concern that moved him. Smiling a comforting smile towards him, she spoke once more.

"Oh, you and your brother might as well be denizens of these walls." she laughed a little to herself. "Had I known you would both keep me so busy, I might have sought out another position!"

If the healer had sought to distract him, she most surely succeeded.

"Loki has been here?"

His brother was always so careful. Thor could remember all the times they would go on adventures—dangerous ones at that—and Loki always returned without a scratch on him. In fact, even when his brother _was_ truly sick he had always insisted on taking care of it _himself._ Loki always complained that he hated the medicinal smell of the healing chambers and the mindless chatter he got from Ástríðr's apprentices.

"Oh, had you not known?" the woman asked surprised. "His highness has been in here almost every week with sparring injuries. You two surely play rough."

To this Thor couldn't help but smirk.

Oh, Loki. Always deceiving.

"Ah, that is _right_." Thor lied. "I had forgotten. Tis such a common occurrence, you understand."

It wasn't.

Letting out a sigh of relief, the older prince relaxed as he felt the healing magic course through his leg and the intense pain start to subside. Kneeling down at his broken appendage with a look of intense concentration on her features, Thor couldn't help but smile towards the healer. If what she said was true, Loki did truly have an affliction that needed curing—and though it would pain him not to tease his brother for taking a liking to the doctor—he also desperately wanted to see where his tricks might take him. And as the young healer gave him a warm smile once more, Thor couldn't help but hope that Loki's little trick worked.

* * *

Ástríðr yawned as she sat upon a seat in her old office. The Allmother had ordered Lady Eir to travel to Vanaheim to tend to the sickly King, and she was resuming her duties temporarily as Asgard's Royal Healer. While she was most certainly enjoying her retirement—most certainly enjoying the lack of long hours and caring for the endless sick—she had to admit she missed her title. In the months since her retirement, she found it impossible to not frequent the palace and speak with her friends. Though she tried to stop herself, she found it difficult to avoid the healing halls and tend to a sick person or two. But when she looked in the mirror, she was reminded that she was not as ageless as she used to be…and as she watched the youthful Eir interact with the ailing, she was reminded that the young woman was a far better fit to Frigga's collection of handmaidens.

Ástríðr had known Eir for the entirety of the girl's life, and from the beginning she knew that the girl was born to do something spectacular. Eir had demonstrated a particular skill for healing magic early on, and as such was thrust into Ástríðr teachings. But as the years went on, and the Allmother took notice of the girl's prodigal abilities, it was decided that Eir undergo medical training on other realms.

The woman became a celebrated doctor on every planet she stepped foot on and as soon as she mastered the knowledge on one realm, she took off to the next. Ever the lover of nature, she would travel the universe documenting medicinal plants and concocting pharmaceutical remedies that made Ástríðr head hurt with their complexity. To say that Eir was a sorceress was only half the story—she was a remarkable scientist that had done more to advance medicinal magic in her short life than Ástríðr had ever done in hers.

At the thought of her old apprentice, the old woman's lips curled into a smile. She really shouldn't have been surprised that the youngest prince had taken an interest. Though Eir lacked many of the features that made her fellow handmaidens stunning, she had a mind that was rivaled only by Loki's. Ástríðr knew Loki was trying to break Eir out of her professional shell, and though he thought himself successful in coaxing out a physiologic explanation or two, he had merely scratched the surface of the woman her successor was.

Once he broke through to the real Eir, he would surely be doomed.

"Ástríðr please hail Lady Eir." A voice begged, breaking through the quiet of the healing chambers. "Ástríðr, _please._ "

Turning towards the voice, a small gasp escaped the old woman's thin lips as she watched Loki collapse on one of the beds. Rushing over to him, she noticed that he was sweating profusely and his face was contorted as if he were in torturous pain. Placing a hand upon his forehead, Ástríðr was shocked at how feverish the young prince was.

"She went to Vanaheim on your mother's request." Ástríðr explained putting a cold rag to his head. "Milord, you look deathly."

But no more words passed past the Prince's lips. Hearing the beat of her heart quicken, Ástríðr looked down at the man that had become unconscious. His breathing had become shallower, and she suddenly found her wrinkled hands shuffling amongst the hundreds of tiny glass vials of medicine. She knew basic Jotun physiology, she had to with Loki being not of Asgard, but now that the man was sick with an illness she couldn't quite pin she found her knowledge lacking.

"All will be well, Milord." She assured more to herself than her patient, "All will be well."

* * *

It felt like his body was covered in bricks, and his head felt like there was a nail through it. Cracking his eyes open ever so slightly, he could faintly make out that he had made it to the healing chambers and that he was not alone. Though his senses weren't working nearly as well as he would have liked, he could hear some muffled voices around his bed. Struggling to take a breath, he tried to push his body to assume a more satisfactory form of consciousness.

"Well, did he go to Muspelheim?"

It was Eir's voice over a communicator.

To this, Ástríðr's ancient eyes caught his.

"Yes." He admitted, his answer clawing past the immense pain in his throat. "With my brother."

Upon his answer, he could hear a distinctly feminine groan over the communicator.

"I shall return by nightfall." Eir's voice promised. "Keep him _alive_ until then."

Cringing, Loki watched as Ástríðr turned off the communicator in her hands and gave him a look that was positively _foul._ He was acutely aware by his present position that he had made a mistake, and as he looked at the blue tint to his fingertips he was certain that the mistake he had just committed was a massive one.

"The eldjötnar swore it would simply give me a fever." Loki admitted ashamedly, his face twisting in pain with each word he spoke. "I let the creature bite me and…"

Ástríðr's eyes were as big as disks.

"You gave yourself _Muspelheimian fever_ all to speak with some _woman?_ "

Cringing, Loki cursed himself as the healer's accusation reached his ears. Lying on the hard healing bed, he realized that he was utterly defeated—his body broken and a fever overtaking his body. He was aware that he looked pathetic, with sweat covering his face and his voice not quite as smooth as he remembered it, but that wasn't the worst of it. No, what was far more mortifying than his current position was that Ástríðr had figured him out.

This was obviously not one of his finer ideas.

"Please don't tell her." Loki begged, his eyes trying hard to stay awake. "Tis already humiliating enough."

"I will hold my tongue if you promise to end this nonsense." She vowed. "I am _certain_ Lady Eir would appreciate conversation outside of these healing halls. Listen, your highness I thin…"

But before Ástríðr could finish what she was saying, his world went black.

* * *

He didn't know how long it had been since his last bought of consciousness, but from the darkness in his room he knew it had to be hours. Though his body desperately wanted to, he could not sit up. Everything hurt so badly—breathing, moving his eyes, _thinking_ —and part of him wished Death would just claim him and stop the wretched war this sickness was unleashing on his body. Looking towards his fingers once more, he noticed that the blue had progressed further up his hand, and he silently wondered to himself if this was just his body's way of saying the end was near.

Before he could throw himself further into such speculation, however, his attention was shaken with the sound of a squeaky door screaming through the silence. In a burst, the room lit up and assaulted his weak eyes. He wanted to scream as the light clawed at his mind like an animal, but he used all his mental strength to keep a screech at bay. Clenching his jaw, he noticed that Ástríðr was gone—instead, the old woman had been replaced with someone much younger.

Eir looked down at him her gilded eyes filled with a concern that shook him. Her cocoa hair was windswept, and a large fur-trimmed hood framed her pale face. On her jacket he could see the tiniest glitter of melting snowflakes, and her nose and cheeks were an ice-kissed rose. When her hand came down to touch his forehead, they were positively freezing.

Loki had to admit, and perhaps it was simply the fact that he was dying, or maybe it was the vial after vial of strong medication Ástríðr had been pumping into him, but he had never quite seen someone as stunning as the woman before him.

"You…you look as though you have traveled to Jotunheim."

Loki mentally cursed as his voice came out more breathily than he intended.

"Indeed, Milord." She agreed. "I had to acquire the remedy to your malady."

He took note that her eyes traveled towards the blue color of his fingers before she pulled out a twig from her deep pockets. Eyeing the plant, Loki watched as the doctor stripped off a piece of bark and presented it towards him. Furrowing his brows, the prince looked up to the doctor with confusion.

"You wish for me to _eat_ this?"

To this, the woman simply sent him a wicked smirk.

"No." she answered. "Tis a suppository."

Loki could feel the humiliation consume him before the woman laughed.

"I jest, your highness." She assured while simultaneously noticing the panic on his face. "Place this under your tongue, and you shall be well on the morrow."

And as he did what he was told, the prince realized he wasn't quite sure whether he _liked_ her or _loathed_ her.

* * *

Ástríðr closed her eyes as she took in the warmth of the Asgardian summer sun. In the distance, she could hear the sound of birds chirping and the growing songs from crickets in the heat. Opening her eyes to take in the beauty of the Palace Royal Gardens, she smiled as she saw her successor placing flowers in vials off in the distance. To the layperson, the gardens were nothing but stunning…but to the trained eye, they also held the answer to many maladies.

But before she could return to the literature in her hands and resume the benefits of her retirement, a figure in the distance caught her eyes. Smiling to herself, Ástríðr watched as the Royal Healer gave the man a respectful bow and laughed at a joke he must have told her. Though the levelheaded Eir would never admit it to herself, Ástríðr could see the spark of life the prince brought to the young woman's face. And as she watched the two of them interact, as she watched the smile on the doctor's features, she was pleased that Loki actually took her advice.

Yes, she thought, much better than the healing chambers.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! Reviews are always appreciated! :3

 **Next Chapter:** The Masquerade

* * *

INSPIRATION:

"Reading this chappy also gave me an idea- how about Loki coming to the healing chambers after he purposely injured himself and she finds out? When I read that part in the previous chapter, my heart swelled with an *awwwwww* :)"—Grassman


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